When we build a fire in a wood burner or campsite, we start small. A spark, a little kindling, maybe some gentle breaths to give it oxygen. We pay close attention to help the delicate flame to become fire. Sometimes the conditions aren’t ideal and we need to take extra care. Maybe the kindling isn’t quite dry or we only have a little bit, or perhaps there’s a strong breeze or threat of rain.
As the fire takes hold, we don’t need to pay quite so much attention from moment to moment. Instead we tune into the slower rhythm of what size wood to add and when. We take care that it’s not so soon that it smothers the fire, and not so late there’s not enough fuel left for the next piece to catch alight.
Building motivation is very similar. It often starts small and fragile. The kindling might just be a thought, a wondering, a faint vision of something better. The process is tentative, curious, where we’re ready to step back if it’s too much.
We can help to draw out the oxygen that fuels motivation – core values, deep desires, unspoken dreams. We want to watch for what strengthens and diminishes the fire and be ready to help add fuel if it’s needed. But when it becomes fully internalised and integrated, motivation burns with a momentum of its own and we don’t need to do so much. If anything.
And yet how often do we start by trying to set whole logs on fire? We fund programs that treat motivation more like an electric heater that can be switched on and off, and when it doesn’t work we wonder whether the worker or the client is broken.
And perhaps, it’s because we mistake motivation for the fire itself. Motivation is the heat, the energy, that helps to drive the change. The flame is not the motivation. The flame is hope. Something precious that already flickers within the other person and requires careful, tender attention.
Helen Mentha 